North Pole Reform School (15 page)

“Ha ha.”

“I’m serious. Isn’t that what this whole thing is all about?
Realising the magic of Christmas? Realising how important it is?”

“Well, I’m not about to turn into some jingle-bell-loving
elf, if that’s what you mean.”

He laughs. “I think they brought us here to make us realise
Christmas is important to people and we shouldn’t be ruining it. This is what
they want you to feel.”

“Haven’t they got to you yet?”

He shrugs. “I’m not going to steal decorations off people’s
lawns anymore, but at the same time, I’m not going bloody Christmas carolling
in the morning.”

“What about the children?”

He shrugs. “I never really hated Christmas in the first
place. I can’t say I care about Christmas either way. The only thing that’s
different about Christmas Day is that Dad’s too drunk by lunchtime to cook
dinner, so I end up trying to do it without burning it. It’s not exactly a
special time of year for my family, but I’m glad children who have nothing else
will get a present from Santa to open on Christmas morning.”

“Did you ever get anything from him?”

“Pfft. Let me tell you about presents in the real world. In
my life, I steal enough money from my dad’s wallet to buy my sister two
presents. One from me, and one that I sign from him, even though he has no
idea. I don’t want her to think that he doesn’t even care enough to buy her a
Christmas present.”

“Luke, I…”

“Yeah, Mistletoe, I know. You’re sorry, you want to help.
Well, guess what? No one can help me. No one can make it better until I can get
us both out of there, and Santa’s Village isn’t the place to start. And don’t
tell me that the elves can help because they clearly haven’t helped the boy in
the file you just read.”

I’m shivering as I wipe more tears off my face.

“C’mere.” Luke pulls me to my feet and wraps his own coat
around me. Then he wraps his arms around me too and I hug him back.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to get tetchy. I just…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he kisses the top
of my head and I just stand there and hold on to him.

When we get back inside, the other files are waiting. I have
no more cases as serious as that one; mostly it’s children who fight with their
siblings or don’t clean their rooms. I feel a little bit guilty for judging
these children. I’m probably on the naughty list myself, so who am I to judge
anyone? But Poinsettia points out that it has to be done, and better that it’s
done by people actually reading the cases than by a power-hungry Santa who
didn’t even look in a single file.

In the middle of the morning, Poinsettia uses her candy-cane
wand to tap on the glass, and an elf appears, carrying a tray of refreshments.
Peppermint crème sweets and peppermint steamed milk. It’s a candy cane in a mug
of hot milk, yet another way for elves to showcase their love of peppermint.

We were only meant to be on N and N duty for the morning,
but when we sit down for lunch—figgy pudding, two candy canes, and “Please Come
Home For Christmas” as slaughtered by the elves on the piano—Tinsel announces
that Poinsettia has requested we go back for the afternoon.

“Teacher’s pets,” Joe mutters.

For once, Luke ignores him.

CHAPTER 21

The next day, we’re on Post Office Duty.

“You’ll like it,” Emily says. “There are no ducks.”

“I don’t know about you lot, but I haven’t seen a bloody
duck since we got here,” Joe says.

“Oh, they’re there, Joe. They’re always watching, but
they’re sneaky so you don’t see them. They attack when you least expect it.”

“Emily, have you ever actually been attacked by a duck?”

“Well, no, but…”

Luke and I leave the room before we get pulled into that
argument too.

The post office is another building that surprises me.

“Oh, we’re not the official post office,” the elf that
greets us inside the door says. “We’re just the replies department. I doubt
they’ll send you to work in the official one. It’s much more sophisticated than
this.”

He is correct on that. We are in yet another basement.

“Is it me or do elves have a bit of a thing for basements?”
Luke says in my ear, and the elf looks at me curiously when I laugh.

“I’m Jingle,” he says as he shuts the door behind us.

I see why Emily likes this place. There are no windows, only
one door, and a desktop lamp that isn’t nearly bright enough. In the corner of
the room is a large chute. It looks like a cooker hood, but underneath it is a
huge pile of multicoloured envelopes. Jingle starts talking, only to be
interrupted by a creaking noise and a rush of air as another pile of envelopes
slides down and lands in the pile at the foot of the chute.

“Ah, next delivery,” he explains. “As you may have noticed,
we’re underneath the main post office. Hundreds of elves work up there, much
like any other mail-sorting office you would have down south. All the North
Pole mail passes through there. As I’m sure you can imagine, at this time of
year, we get a lot of letters to Santa. People keep saying that e-mail is all
the rage these days, but nothing beats a handwritten letter from a child.”

“From a greedy bugger demanding Christmas presents, you
mean?” Luke asks.

“Oh no, you mustn’t think of it like that. A lot of children
confide in Santa. He is a very important figure at this time of year, and
children place their trust in him.”

“I bet,” Luke mutters.

Jingle ignores him.

“This is where we come in. The only thing nicer than a child
who has made the effort to write to Santa is when Santa makes the effort to
write back. Of course, this Santa is far too busy to do anything menial like
that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this Santa has only been in the job since last year.
The previous Santas used to personally write back to the children, and there
was a whole department dedicated just to sorting the letters from children. At
the busy times of year, the elves would write the letters, but Santa would sign
them, so it was still a little bit personal. When this Santa came on board, he
got rid of all that. He dissolved the whole department. He eventually saw fit
to keep me on, but as you can see, I was relocated.” Jingle waves his arms
around to indicate the basement. “Nowadays, I’m not a department, I’m just an
elf, shoved away and forgotten about in a basement. Every letter a child writes
to Santa is sorted by the official post-office workers and thrown down the
chute to me. I sit here all day and night and write replies, supposedly from
Santa, although the man himself has no interest in them, and I am lucky to
still have a job at all as he very nearly did away with letters altogether.”

“This Santa doesn’t sound very—”

“Oh, we must never speak badly of Santa,” Jingle says. He
puts his finger over his lips and looks around worriedly, like someone might be
listening.

Perhaps it’s a duck.

“I’m very glad to have you here, actually. I know some elves
aren’t keen on the reform program, but you lot are the only help I get at this
time of year. One woman from your group has been particularly devoted to
helping me this year and has requested to come back again and again.”

Emily, of course. Neither of us have the heart to tell him
that it’s probably not so much devoted to helping him as it is devoted to
staying away from imaginary ducks.

“So, what do we do?” Luke asks.

“Simple. Take a letter from the bottom of the pile—the
oldest are at the bottom—and write a heartfelt reply. Sign it from Santa so the
children will think it’s from the man himself. Address the envelope and pop it
in the sack by the door. We get a pickup once a day.”

“Why not sign it from Elf Jingle?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure the children would be equally excited to
hear from one of Santa’s elves,” Luke adds.

Jingle gasps. “Unheard of. Absolutely unheard of. It’s
preposterous.”

“Why?”

“Because… because… because I’m not Santa. The children write
to Santa. They want a response from Santa.”

“But the response isn’t from Santa. It’s from you.”

“Yes, but the children don’t know that, and we must keep it
that way.”

“But you’re just encouraging them to believe in a Santa who
doesn’t really care about them.”

“I… I’m sure he cares really.”

“From all accounts we’ve heard, it seems like he really
doesn’t,” Luke says.

I think about it. Luke is right in that assessment. Almost
every department we’ve been to has had something negative to say about this
Santa. I never imagined Santa could be the bad guy.

“I think you should start signing the letters from Elf
Jingle,” I tell him. “All children know Santa is busy. They would be even more
overjoyed to receive a reply from you. An elf who genuinely cares is much
better than a falsified image of a Santa who doesn’t care a bit.”

“We were in the Naughty and Nice building yesterday,” Luke
says. “Do you know that Santa put loads of children on the naughty list last
year without even reading their files? He doesn’t deserve you covering for him.
Sign your own name. To hell with him.”

“Do you really think…? No. No, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the letters are supposed to be from Santa. It’s not
my job to change that.”

“It’s your job to sit in a cold and lonely basement day in
and day out, writing someone else’s letters?”

“But the children love the letters.”

“The children would equally love the letters if they were
signed from the person who actually wrote them.”

“I couldn’t, I couldn’t,” he mumbles.

“Go for it. Elf Jingle: Chief Letter Writer.” Luke grins.

“By jolly, I think I will.” He punches a fist into the air
in excitement. “Yes. Yes, you’re absolutely right. Santa hasn’t thought twice
about me all year, why should I cover his ass any longer?”

“I didn’t think elves were allowed to say the word ass…”

“Oh, elves are allowed to say anything, we just choose not
to as it brings down the Christmas spirit.”

“Sod the Christmas spirit. Show that Santa what you’re made
of!” Luke cheers him on even more.

“
Yes
!” Jingle shouts happily.
“And you two must sign your own names, of course. You will be honorary elves.
You must sign your letters from Elf Luke and Elf Mistletoe.”

“Honorary elves, eh?” Luke nudges me with his elbow. “My
wildest dream has come true at last.”

Jingle doesn’t notice his sarcasm. “Yes, we must get to it
immediately. Here, you sit here and you here.” He points us to an empty spot on
the floor and we sit down. Jingle takes a stack of envelopes from the bottom of
the big pile and deposits them on the floor in front of us. Then he hands us
paper and a selection of glitter pens.

The amount of letters is nothing short of ridiculous.

“How can Santa expect you to manage all these by yourself?”
I ask.

Jingle shrugs. “He doesn’t care either way. Like I said, if
he had his way the whole department would have been wiped out. Tinsel and Navi
pleaded my case, but I’m here out of choice.”

“Aren’t there some other elves who could help you? You elves
love Christmas. Surely loads of you would like the children to still get
replies?”

“They already have jobs. The other elves aren’t allowed to
leave their own jobs to help me. As far as Santa is concerned, my job doesn’t
count. I may as well not exist.”

“It’s crazy to expect you to cope with all these letters on
your own,” Luke says.

“I have to. If I didn’t then no child would get a reply to
their letter. It doesn’t matter anyway. At least I have help from the reform
groups when you’re in.”

I take that as my cue to make a start on my pile of letters.
Some of them are what we expected. A child basically demanding the entire Toys“R”Us
catalogue. Jingle insists that every letter deserves a response, so I write
back a cursory “We’ll see what Santa can do” and sign it from Elf Mistletoe.
There are more like it. Santa, give me this, give me that, and even one who
demands Santa come early as he doesn’t wish to wait until the twenty-fifth for
his toys. I slide that one under a sack when Jingle isn’t looking. That one
doesn’t deserve a response, no matter what some letter-writing elf might think.

There are others, too, though. Ones that are about more than
just toys. Ones that make me realise how much children put their trust in
Santa. They think he’s a magical being who can wave a wand and make everything
better. I wonder how disappointed they’d be if they found out he was just a power-hungry
bastard who doesn’t even like the elves he employs. I glance at Luke, but he’s
hunched over writing his own replies so he doesn’t see me. He’d probably say
I’m being silly and that this is what the elves want anyway. To make you see
the magic of Christmas. To make you realise how important it is.

Well, for me, it’s working.

Dear Santa,

I’m not writing for a Christmas present. There is nothing that
I need. I just wanted to write and let you know how much you mean to me.
Sometimes I can’t sleep at night and I lie awake and I feel scared for no
reason. When I feel like that, I think of you and it calms me down. I picture
you up in the North Pole feeding your reindeer and I don’t feel so scared
anymore. My mum has bought extra cookies this year, and we will leave plenty
out for you along with a glass of warm milk as you must get cold in the sleigh
on Christmas Eve. We will leave mince pies as well as we are not sure if you
prefer pies to cookies, and also some carrots for the reindeer in case they are
hungry from all that flying. I hope you have a good journey this year. Mum says
you won’t come if I wait up for you, but I would love to see you. Please come
anyway, even if I am awake. I promise I won’t tell.

Love,

Timmy

I write back to him.

Dear Timmy,

My name is Mistletoe, and I’m one of Santa’s elves at the
North Pole. I’m sorry that Santa is very, very busy this year, and he doesn’t
have time to respond personally. But he asked me to say thank you very much for
your lovely letter and to tell you that he has an equal love of cookies and
pies, and the reindeer certainly do enjoy carrots. Thank you very much for
thinking of them as well. Santa would love to stop and chat, but unfortunately
he has a very tight schedule on Christmas Eve. He will, however, wave to you if
his sleigh passes your window.

Take care,

Elf Mistletoe

Something about this rubs me up the wrong way. Santa doesn’t
care about these children, and it seems wrong to let them think that he does.
The whole letter I’ve just written is a lie. Santa hasn’t read Timmy’s letter.
He doesn’t care if there are mince pies or cookies for him. He probably doesn’t
even eat them. He doesn’t think it’s sweet that Timmy worries about him getting
cold or the reindeer getting hungry.

It’s wrong, and I want to do something about it.

The next letter makes me tear up.

Dear Santa,

There’s only one thing I want for Christmas, and even though I
know your elves can’t make it in the toyshop, I don’t want anything else. My
mummy is really sick, and she has been for a long time. Daddy says this will be
her last Christmas, and I don’t want it to be. I don’t care about toys. I just
want my mummy to get better. I want her to be here forever. Christmas won’t be
Christmas without her.

Love,

Becky

There are tears in my eyes when I finish reading that one.
Luke looks up from his letter and his eyes are shining too.

Jingle smiles at us both. “All part of the job,” he says
warmly.

“How can Santa think this isn’t important? These children
need him.”

“He can’t save people’s lives, Mistletoe. You know that.”

“Yeah, obviously. But even a letter back from him would make
this girl feel better.”

“Why do you think I stay down here on my own every day? This
is the part of Christmas that
really
helps
people.”

“How could Santa want to do away with this?” Luke wipes his
eyes. “I’ve just had a letter from a girl dying of cancer, and her Christmas
wish is that Santa help her mum and dad to not be sad when she’s gone. How am I
supposed to respond to that?”

“Just write something true and genuine, Luke. Something that
comes from the heart, even if it’s just to say you’re sorry for her situation.
A heartfelt sentence is better than nothing at all. We have a unique
opportunity to connect with children here. Personally, I think it’s the most
important part of Christmas, but clearly Santa doesn’t agree. Between you and
me, I think he likes children about as much as he likes elves.”

“This Santa sounds like a right bastard. I wish there was
something we could do,” Luke says.

It surprises me. I didn’t think Luke cared about Christmas
at all, especially about the elves and the North Pole. I’ll have to ask him
later.

I try to see through my tears to write my own response.